


Seeking Warmth

by Woofemus



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 05:43:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13264920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woofemus/pseuds/Woofemus
Summary: Mòrag gets woken up by an unexpected source.





	Seeking Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> no huge plot spoilers but this is based off of a heart to heart with nia, zeke, and pandoria oop

Mòrag wakes to a strange sensation on her leg. She absently swats at whatever it is, and goes back to sleep.

Or she should be, but now that she’s already woken, she opens her eyes instead, peering through the darkness. That’s strange, they’re sleeping out in Gormott under the stars tonight—ah, wait. With a small groan, Mòrag lifts her cap off her face, and squeezes her eyes shut when the light of Brighid shines in her face.

From behind her eyelids, she can still see Brighid’s illumination. Even as dimmed as she tries to make herself, it’s still bright for Mòrag to not want to look at it for too long, especially in the dark, and _especially_ after waking. A small side effect of being one of the most powerful Fire Blades, unfortunately. Mòrag is already used to it, but it doesn’t make it any less discomforting for the first few seconds.

The sensation on her leg comes back. Mòrag frowns and absently swats at it again. Must be a bug of some sort. Gormott always has an abundance of those, much more than Mor Ardain at least. Mòrag’s always liked everything about Gormott, but the bugs are one thing she could do without.

Mòrag is about to drift off to sleep when the feeling on her leg comes back. And, it… feels like it’s… moving?

“Brighid?” Mòrag whispers. She has an arm wrapped around Brighid so she tries to shake her slightly too.

She waits, and receives no answer. And still, the feeling on her leg doesn’t stop.

… is this one of Brighid’s teases? Mòrag turns her head to where Brighid is asleep and blearily opens her eyes, frowning. Brighid’s curled up next to her, sleeping away with her head on Mòrag’s shoulder. Mòrag can’t help but soften her expression, until the persistent feeling on her leg reminds her of more _pressing_ matters.

Mòrag looks down at themselves. She can’t see Brighid’s hands or arms, not with Mòrag’s coat covering the both of them. Ah, right.

Gormott’s nearing autumn, which means the night is still warm but the winds are starting to turn colder. Brighid doesn’t get cold as per a Fire Blade, but she doesn’t enjoy cold wind all the same, and neither can Mòrag say she herself appreciates it. Mòrag’s kept warm by Brighid’s presence at her side (though the side that _doesn’t_ have Brighid suffers slightly), so the makeshift blankets are more for covering from the winds. But now, Mòrag is realizing Brighid’s discovered another use for them.

Awful.

The feeling on her leg doesn't stop, rising higher still. It’s slightly ticklish, too soft to be deliberate but too firm to be completely accidental. Mòrag can’t help but squirm slightly. Brighid can be a terrible tease when she's being playful, but Mòrag thinks that _this_ is hardly the time for it. She needs to put a stop to this _now_ before things really get out of hand.

“Brighid,” Mòrag tries again, frowning when she still receives no answer. The sensation on her leg climbs higher, at a pace that feels slow and torturous. When and how did Brighid get so good at pretending to be asleep?

And, as the snores of everyone else reach Mòrag’s ears and remind her where they are, why does she have to do this _now_?

When the sensation still doesn’t stop, Mòrag nearly growls in frustration. This game has gone on for too far!

“Brighid, _please_ ,” Mòrag hisses as she shakes Brighid insistently, “we're in the company of our friends, of whom some are _children_ , need I remind you.”

 _Finally,_ Brighid starts to stir. She murmurs something incoherent before moving her head up, slightly cross at being woken so quickly. “Lady Mòrag? What is it?”

“I’m sure you’re _well_ aware.” The gall of Brighid to actually pretend! “ _We_ are not alone by ourselves, and your hand is on my _thigh_.”

“My... hand?” Brighid looks in her direction for such an uncomfortably long time that Mòrag isn't sure if she's actually staring or fallen back asleep. Finally, Brighid furrows her brow and lifts her hand off of Mòrag's chest. “You mean this one?”

Mòrag blinks at it. Brighid turns her hand all around as if to prove that yes, this is indeed her own hand, not anywhere near Mòrag's leg.

Mòrag flings off her coat. Brighid gasps at suddenly being bared to the air and tries to curls closer, but Mòrag is already propping herself up on her elbows. She stares down at her leg, realizes she can’t exactly see anything, and takes one of Brighid’s hands, using her glow to illuminate _whatever_ it is is on her leg.

It’s… green. Then she narrows her eyes. Green? That’s… not a normal color. And this… she doesn’t recognize the shape at all. Green? What things are green?

If there's one thing the barren landscape of Mor Ardain has taught her, a bright color like green can only mean…

Poison. And bugs.

Mòrag yells as she scrambles upright, swatting off _whatever_ it is that’s on her leg. The whole camp startles awake at her shout.  

“Is it an enemy attack?!”

“Who’s that?!”

“T-Tora not sleeping on nightwatch, promise!”

Mòrag ignores their calls, scanning through the grass. She needs to get rid of this before it has a chance to sneak up on anyone else. Except, whatever green thing it is, is blending with the grass. Curses for an easy kill.

“Some poisonous bug was on me,” Mòrag only says rather matter-of-factly, not noticing everyone's suddenly alarmed looks. Finally, she spies something moving through the grass and there it is, the green slow-moving poisonous bug. “No worries, I’ll get rid of it now!” She puts her boot over it, ready to smash it.

“Lady Mòrag, wait!”

Mòrag immediately stops and backs away, looking over at Brighid, who's coming over, perplexed. “I don't believe that's a bug,” she says, and offers nothing else but a quirked eyebrow and a gesture for Mòrag to investigate. Mòrag frowns at her but crouches toward the grass anyway.

It's… not a bug. Who would've thought Brighid would notice that. If it's not a bug, then…

Realization comes to her, and she reaches out to scoop the animal into her hand. “Is… is this a _turtle_?”

It’s so… _tiny._ Why is there a turtle climbing on her? Why did it have to be _her_ with a turtle walking on her?

Where did this turtle even come from?

“Ah!”

Like the question to all her other questions, Zeke swoops in and snatches the turtle straight out of her hands. “What’s wrong with you?! Handling another man’s turtle so rudely!” He pats the turtle on the back in a reassuring way. “You’re in safe hands now, Turters! No Special Inquisitor’s gonna cook you alive, mate.”

Mòrag is starting to wish she never woke up.

“Oh, right! Mòrag wasn’t here for Turters!” Rex chimes up, thankfully adding pieces to the missing story Mòrag’s sure she’s not going to get straight from Zeke. “The turtle is Zeke and Pandoria’s, and his name is Turters. It’s…” Rex rubs the back of his head with a nervous laugh, “a long story.”

“I’m sure it is,” she mutters.

She looks over at Zeke, and to the turtle in his hands. “You... really do have a turtle.” _Why_ , is the real question Mòrag wants to ask but Zeke is talking again before she can.

“‘Course I do! And Turters is a part of our band just as much as you are!”  

“You… have a turtle, and his name is _Turters_.” Mòrag puts a hand on her face, suddenly feeling far more tired than before.

“Nice name, huh? I was the one who came up with it.” Zeke grins, looking so proud for whatever reason Mòrag thinks she’ll never be aware of.

“You… have a turtle,” Mòrag can’t help but repeat before she sighs loudly into her hand. “I… no, I can’t deal with this right now. _Anyway,_ ” Mòrag gestures to the turtle, narrowing her eyes, “I found it crawling on my leg as I slept. I suggest you keep it on yourselves, or we may have cooked turtle in the morning for breakfast.”

“Eh?! Not again?!” Pandoria is the one who exclaims, running over to the turtle and scooping him up in her hands. “Aww, why do you have to keep on escaping, Turters?! And going near Brighid too! You got some kind of death wish or something?”

After several more minutes of clamor, of which Mòrag spies Nia making faces as she looks at Zeke and Pandoria, everyone eventually starts to quiet down. Mòrag settles back down in her original spot, sighing. Hopefully, that turtle can stay where he belongs, which is _away_ from her and Brighid.  

“A turtle,” she says, letting out a small huff. “It was a _turtle_ , crawling on my leg. Unbelievable.”

“He has good taste,” Brighid says with a quiet laugh. Mòrag glares at her out of the corner of her eye.

She puts her cap over her face just as Brighid throws Mòrag’s coat over them and settles down next to her once more. Feeling far more exhausted than she’d felt before falling asleep the first time, and combined with the warmth of Brighid at her side, Mòrag easily drifts back into sleep.

Until the second time she wakes up.

Mòrag wakes to yet another strange sensation, except it’s on her chest now.

“Oh, for the love of…” She puts her cap off to the side and lifts up her coat.

Through the illumination of Brighid’s hand splayed across her chest, Mòrag spies the turtle— _Turters_ , she corrects though not without an exasperated sigh inside her mind, on her again. He’s stepping on Mòrag all the same, but now he’s nearing one of Brighid’s fingers.

“That's dangerous, little one. You shouldn’t be so careless and go near her,” Mòrag mumbles. Then she pauses, realizing she’s talking to a _turtle_ , of all things.

Sleep. She needs sleep.

Mòrag takes her cap and flips it upside down, pushing it between her body and her arm to keep it upright. As carefully as she can with only one hand (since Brighid’s occupied the other one), she scoops up Turters and places him inside her hat. “There, hopefully you’ll cause less trouble than you've already done,” she mutters.

Certain that he won’t be crawling on her anytime soon again, Mòrag closes her eyes and goes back to sleep.


End file.
